Guilt

He was wearing his own pair of gloves, standing inside a suspect's house. He had entered without permission and without a warrant and that was the plain fact of it. He was in the wrong.

The side door by the driveway had been left unlocked. So Dooher hadn't lied about everything during his trial. He'd testified – and standing under the cold and darkened portico Glitsky had remembered – that he tended to leave the side door unlocked when he went out, the alarm de-activated.

Now he stood in the kitchen where so long ago he'd sat and had tea with Sheila Dooher. When he'd come in, he turned on the light in the laundry and the overflow lit the counters dimly.

On the way here, he'd considered pulling over and making a another call to Sam Duncan, bringing her up to date on Farrell. But there was no up-to-date with Farrell. He might be going to die, if he wasn't dead already. What could he tell her that couldn't wait another hour? Until they knew something?

But here, in the kitchen, it gnawed at him again. He remembered the last moments with Flo, where he hadn't been able to do anything, but had sat by the bed, holding her hand. Perhaps she'd felt something, some pressure from him, some love, in the last seconds. Maybe it had made some difference.

Digging in his breast pocket, he fished out the piece of paper on which he'd written Sam's number. He'd at least tell her what he knew.

He crossed the kitchen in a few strides, stood by the telephone, hesitated briefly, then picked it up.

But instead of punching Sam's numbers, he noticed the Redial key and, without really considering, pressed it.

There were eleven quick beeps. Long distance.

'Hello.' A pleasant, cultured female voice.

'Hello. This is Lieutenant Abraham Glitsky, San Francisco Homicide. Who am I speaking with please?'

'Oh my God, Homicide?'

'Yes, ma'am. In San Francisco. Who am I-'

'Is Christina all right? Tell me she's all right.'

'Christina?'

'Christina Carrera, my daughter. Is she all right?'

'I don't know, ma'am. I hope so. Right now I'm trying to locate her husband, Mark Dooher. Do you know where he might be?'

'He said he was going directly to the hospital.'

'The hospital? What hospital? Why was he going to the hospital?'

'To be with Christina. She's at St Mary's, in labor. She's having her baby.'

'And Dooher knows she's there?'

'Yes, I told him…' The voice had lost its modulation.

'When was this?'

'I don't know exactly. Maybe a half-hour ago, not even that long. He called me again and I just thought…'

Glitsky didn't need to hear any more.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

Diane was in the post-delivery room. She squeezed Christina's hand. 'It's all right,' she said. 'You're allowed to cry. He's beautiful. Handsome, I mean.'

'Beautiful,' Christina said.

Jess Yamagi leaned over her, laid a finger against the baby's cheek, brought his hand up to Christina's shoulder. 'I'm going to let you hold him for a couple of minutes, Chris, but his temperature is a degree or two low, which is perfectly normal. We're going to put him under the lamp and warm him up until he's stabilized.'

'And then what?'

'Then we wash him off and bundle him up and bring him to you. Meanwhile, you get a little rest if you can.' He squeezed her shoulder. 'You did good, Chris. Great job. You, too, Diane.'

Christina couldn't take her eyes from her baby who seemed to be staring back at her. She'd always thought that infants were born with their eyes closed, but her son was wide-eyed, memorizing her.

A nurse appeared and showed Christina the little plastic hospital tag they put around the baby's ankle -Baby Boy Dooher. Her husband's name startled her slightly, but the tag was already made up. It wasn't so important it had to be changed right away. 'Everybody worries we're going to mix up their children in the nursery, so we show you this to put your mind at ease,' the nurse went on.

'All the babies get one,' Diane volunteered.

Christina was staring through the mist down at her son. 'I'd know this guy anywhere. I could pick him out of a thousand other babies.'

The nurse smiled again. 'I know you could, sweetheart.' Then, picking him up, 'He'll be back in no time, don't worry.'

It wrenched her to have the baby taken, but it wouldn't be for very long, it was a normal procedure. She turned to Diane, the rock, and squeezed her hand again, the fatigue kicking in.

She'd just close her eyes for a minute…

Like the rest of life, it was simplicity itself if carried off with grace and assurance. Dooher was the natural father of the child, the legal father. He had as much right to be here as Christina did.

'I'm sorry I'm so late,' he said to the nurse at the admitting station after he'd presented his ID, proving that he was who he said he was. 'I'm just in from the airport. I've been back East all week. I knew this would happen when I was out of town. I knew it. How is Christina?'

The nurse double-checked his ID, then Christina's admitting record, verifying that yes, he was the husband, they lived at the same address. They were careful here – babies had been known to disappear.

Looking up, satisfied, the nurse seemed to see Mark for the first time, the nervous father. 'Your wife got moved to her room a couple of minutes ago, Mr Dooher. Room 412, right down that hallway. She's resting now, doing fine. And congratulations, you have a baby boy.'

Dr Yamagi diagnosed the Lieutenant to be on the edge of hysteria. His blue eyes were dilated in his dark-skinned face. An unusual combination.

But the man – Glitsky – wasn't here about genetics. He'd come in through the emergency entrance, always a fun place on a Saturday night. Probably so that he could park as close to the hospital as possible. Waste no time.

'Yes, I delivered the Dooher boy,' Yamagi said, 'maybe forty-five minutes ago.'

'Is the mother all right? Christina?'

'Yes. She was, anyway. Why?'

Glitsky didn't answer that question. He had his own. 'Have you seen the father – Mark Dooher? Has he been here?'

Yamagi shook his head. 'No. Christina had a friend helping her. Diane.' This name didn't seem to register.

'I'd like to see them. Talk to her.'

'She may be resting.'

Glitsky nodded. 'I'll wake her up.'

The doctor rode up the elevator with the silent Homicide Lieutenant. They passed the nurse's station without a word, and Yamagi escorted Glitsky into the maternity wing itself, past the double doorway that segregated the new mothers from the sick and the injured.

This was the happy part of the hospital, with bright stencils decorating the walls and the hallway filled with flowers and balloons and, somehow, a sense of optimism.

Glitsky noted it all, but little of it registered. Yamagi pushed open a door at the end of the hall – Room 412. The overhead light was turned off, but Glitsky recognized Christina in her bed, her eyes closed.

Under a directional light, another woman was reading Modern Maternity. She looked up when the men entered, breaking into a welcoming smile at Yamagi, then a questioning glance at Glitsky. She dropped her magazine into the carry-all shoulder purse on the floor next to her chair. She stood up.

'Hi, doctor. She's sleeping.'

'No, that's all right, Diane. I'm awake.' Christina was already pushing herself upright, getting ready to hold her son. 'Is the baby here?' She opened her eyes, trying to get focused. She took in Diane and Yamagi, then blinked, as though having trouble with her vision. 'Lieutenant Glitsky?'

He nodded. 'Ms Carrera.'

'What are you doing…?' She came straight up, grimacing with effort. 'My son! Is my son all right?'